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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639311">I Heard You Were Saucy at My Gates</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnanqo/pseuds/rnanqo'>rnanqo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Inspired by Shakespeare, Pre-Canon, it's a Twelfth Night mashup y'all, tltexchange2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:22:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,056</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnanqo/pseuds/rnanqo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dulcinea Septimus said no.</p>
<p>The Warden might take that as an answer. But I, his second, his Hand, his heart, would not.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After Dulcinea rejects Palamedes’ offer of marriage, Camilla Hect makes a secret journey to the Seventh to convince her otherwise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Camilla Hect/Dulcinea Septimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Heard You Were Saucy at My Gates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the TLT Holiday Exchange 2020, for the prompt "Camilla/Dulcinea instead of Pal/Dulcinea".</p>
<p>This is an adaptation of Twelfth Night, Act 1 Scene 5, for the Cam/Dulcie agenda. As Shakespeare stole from others, so shall I steal from Shakespeare. Many liberties have been taken in regards to the source text.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dulcinea Septimus said no.</p>
<p>That was all I could think about when we received her letter, back on the Sixth. The Warden put his head in his hands and curled his fingers so hard into his hair I worried he’d pull half of it out. He had written her a whole beautiful engagement poem in anticipation of her <em>yes</em>, and she had said <em>no</em>.</p>
<p>The Warden might take that as an answer. But I, his second, his Hand, his heart, would not.</p>
<p>I began my preparations. I copied his poem out in my own hand. I memorized it. I practiced it. I created a performance that would sway any heart. And then I arranged a shuttle to the Seventh and presented myself at the gates of Castle Rhodes.</p>
<p>“I must speak with the Duchess Septimus,” I told the hulking guard. “I have an important message for her, from the Master Warden of the Sixth House.”</p>
<p>He gave me barely a glance in return. “She is sick.”</p>
<p>“I know. That’s why I’ve come.”</p>
<p>He sniffed. “She is sleeping.”</p>
<p>“I know that too,” I said. “She sleeps, on average, fifteen and a quarter hours out of every twenty-four. Trust me, I’m well acquainted with her condition.”</p>
<p>This did not sway him either. Fortunately, I have extensive practice dealing with obstinate people. I stared at him, unblinking, until he shifted back and forth on his feet. My upper limit for not blinking is around three minutes and thirty-five seconds, but he broke after a mere forty-three.</p>
<p>“Well, you seem fortified against any denial,” he said, which wasn’t quite a capitulation but it was enough of an opening for me.</p>
<p>“I’ll stand at these gates as long as I have to. I will steal your uniform and do your own job for you if I must. I will disguise myself as a piece of furniture and plant myself here for as long as it takes. But I <em>will</em> speak with the Duchess Septimus!”</p>
<p>I had let myself become slightly impassioned. But, interestingly, this seemed to work. I filed that away for future reference. The guard sighed, told me to wait for a moment, and went away to speak to someone. I allowed myself the briefest of smiles, for a minor victory.</p>
<p>When the guard returned, he led me through a maze of airy glass-ceilinged hallways, all very quiet, until we arrived at a conservatory, or greenhouse of sorts. We don't have these on the Sixth, but I’ve heard about them, and this one was essentially a quarter-sphere tacked onto the side of the castle, its huge round wall and curved ceiling both made of glass, which let in the hot, bright light of Dominicus. If these glass walls looked out onto any stunning vista, I couldn't tell, because there were plants on every available surface, drinking in the light. Even though it was filled with greenery, the conservatory seemed more appointed to socializing than serious gardening: there were couches and low tables, and a little cart laden with glasses and decanters filled with many jewel-colored liquids. The guard led me around a large bromeliad and into the presence of the Duchess Septimus, announcing me as “a messenger from the Master Warden of the Sixth House.”</p>
<p>I had planned for anonymity. My correspondence with the Duchess Septimus up until that point had not been extensive, Palamedes undertaking the majority of communication with her, but we had exchanged enough letters between ourselves that I believed her to hold some fond sentiments toward me, as I had toward her—or at least, as I had until she had rejected the Warden’s offer. I worried that her knowing who I was would sway her unduly. I—and the Warden too, if I told him about this, later on—would rather she be swayed by message and poetry alone.</p>
<p>I had expected to come into the room, bow, and begin my declamation with commanding self-assurance. But instead of one Dulcinea Septimus sitting ready to receive me, there were <em>two</em> ladies in the conservatory. One lounged on an orange velvet divan, fanning herself with a minor explosion of ostrich feathers. The other stood behind the divan, gripping its back with bloodless fingers as though guarding the other. And they both had black lace veils thrown over their faces, so I could not see who they were. This was overdramatic, I felt. Truly, to quote one of our venerated archivists, “some Seventh House bullshit.”</p>
<p>But I had prepared for Seventh House bullshit in the abstract, even if not in this particular.</p>
<p>“The honorable Duchess of Rhodes,” I said, bowing. “Which is she?”</p>
<p>“Speak to me,” the lady standing said. “I shall answer for her.” This probably meant that Dulcinea was the one on the divan, and not feeling up to speaking out loud today. The standing lady, her attendant, gave a polite little cough. “Your will?”</p>
<p>Finally, it was time. I cleared my throat and brought up the speech. “Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty—”</p>
<p>All of a sudden I stopped, feeling very silly indeed. I can’t declaim properly without a face to declaim to. For my practice earlier I had made do with a stick figure drawing, but it's very difficult to look at veiled people and not know whether they are laughing at you under their veils or not. And some of this text was quite sentimental, unsuitable for the hearing of non-Dulcinea parties. What if <em>neither</em> of these women was Dulcinea?</p>
<p>I addressed the attendant, gesturing to the reclining lady: “Please, can you tell me if this actually is the Duchess Septimus? I have never seen her picture, and I’d hate to waste my speech on anyone that wasn’t her. It’s very sentimental, and I spent a lot of time memorizing it.”</p>
<p>There was the faintest giggle from behind one of the veils.</p>
<p>“The least you could do is not laugh at me," I said. "I’m very nervous about this.”</p>
<p>The women fanned themselves for a bit in silence. There was no hint of mockery when the attendant said, “Where did you come from?”</p>
<p>I said, “I have come only to say my piece, and that question’s out of my purview. Please just let me know if one of you is actually the Duchess Septimus, so I can proceed with what I had planned.”</p>
<p>The attendant said, “Are you a comedian?”</p>
<p>“No,” I said, unsure whether to be flattered or offended to be mistaken for such. “But I am not quite what I say I am, either.”</p>
<p>I didn’t mean to say that, but I was growing mildly exasperated. Then again, I should have expected this; from her letters, Dulcinea enjoyed exasperating people in good fun.</p>
<p>Wait—</p>
<p>I looked at the attendant, shocked. “Are <em>you</em> the Duchess Septimus?”</p>
<p>The two of them burst into gales of laughter; the woman who had been reclining in ostentatious duchesslike fashion laughed so hard she dropped her ostrich-feather fan. The Duchess Septimus gave a little curtsey, still clutching the divan, and said, “You’ve found me out! I am.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you are her,” I said, vaguely piqued, “you could have said so a whole lot sooner. But that’s out of my pay grade. I will continue with the speech in your praise, and then come to the heart of my message.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you can skip all the praise,” the Duchess Septimus said brightly, settling herself beside her attendant on the divan. “Get to the heart. I love a good heart.”</p>
<p>“But I spent so long studying it,” I said. “And it’s very pretty!”</p>
<p>“All the more likely to be feigned. Please, keep it to yourself. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and poor Pro was so perplexed by you that he couldn’t even tell me what you’d come to say, only that you were going to say <em>something</em>. If you’re not going to entertain me, then leave; if you have something to say, be brief. I’m not in the mood to banter today.”</p>
<p>Before I could figure out how to answer that, her attendant rose from the divan and made to chivvy me back out of the conservatory. “Will you take your leave? The door is right here.”</p>
<p>“No, I am to stay a while longer,” I said, sidestepping her. To the Duchess Septimus I said, “My lady, tell her to stand down! Tell me if you would like to hear what I have to say; I <em>am</em> a messenger.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure whatever you have to say is hideous, when the courtesy of it is so fearful,” said the Duchess Septimus. “Say what you have come to say.”</p>
<p>“It’s really only for you,” I said, beginning to feel some small twinge of desperation. The attendant’s body language had become marginally tenser. “No, don’t worry, I’m not declaring interhousal war, or demanding the Seventh bow to the Sixth. I come in peace.”</p>
<p>“Yet you began rudely.” The Duchess Septimus' ostrich-feather fan waved slowly back and forth in front of her veil. “Who are you? What do you want?”</p>
<p>I stared as directly into her eyes as I could. This is to say, at the place on the veil where I estimated her eyes would be, calculating down from the top of her head. “Any rudeness on my behalf is only because of the welcome I received. Who I am and what I want are a secret: music to your ears, profanation to any others.”</p>
<p>That had a minor effect. The Duchess Septimus lifted a lace-gloved hand and said to her attendant, “Give us the place alone, Maria. We will hear this <em>music</em>.” After a glance at me, the attendant withdrew reluctantly from the conservatory, shutting the door behind her with a click. The Duchess Septimus adjusted herself on the divan so that she was lying artfully upon it, arranging her seafoam skirts like so many falls of frothy water. “Now,” she said, “what is your text?”</p>
<p>I cleared my throat. Finally, the moment had arrived. Dulcinea alone, ready to hear the argument that would sway her into accepting the Warden’s hand. I began:</p>
<p>“Most sweet lady—"</p>
<p>A long, loud yawn cut through the air. I had barely even started. I stared in frank outrage at the Duchess Septimus, who was making her own performance of finding <em>mine</em> intolerable. “A comfortable sentiment, and much has been said on the subject,” she cut in, before I could find the words to continue. “Where did this come from?”</p>
<p>“From the Warden’s bosom.” I was feeling outraged on his behalf. Even if she’d said no to marriage, they were still friendly, weren’t they? Had she been treating his letters this flippantly the whole time?</p>
<p>“His bosom!” she said. “In what chapter of his bosom?”</p>
<p>“To answer by the method,” I said, grateful for my study of this obscure Seventh catechism, “in the first of his heart.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’ve read that. It is drivel.” She slumped a little, fingers toying with the tassel on the end of the fan. “Is that all you have to say?”</p>
<p>I do not often get angry, but, I can safely say, at that point I was. “Duchess Septimus, let me see your face!” If she was going to mock the Warden through me, she could at least do it without hiding.</p>
<p>“Has the Warden charged you to look upon my face?” she said, simperingly. “This isn’t what you came to say. But I will draw back the veil nonetheless.”</p>
<p>Her long bloodless fingers caught the bottom of the veil and drew it upward, settling it atop a head of light brown curls.</p>
<p>“Here: my face. Isn’t it pretty?”</p>
<p>My breath caught. (I am sure it was just with the satisfaction of finally seeing her. I had imagined her, of course, but the reality of seeing someone you’ve imagined for so long is—strange.) Her face was wider than I had expected, with huge deep-set blue eyes. Her skin seemed thin, like if anyone touched it it would rip. Her mouth was very, very red, and there was a rueful set to it that made it impossible to be angry with her any longer.</p>
<p>“Very pretty,” I said before I could catch myself, and to compensate added, “If you haven’t used any necromantic trickery to make it so.”</p>
<p>She laughed at this, which turned into a hacking cough. “It’s durable, to be sure. They say dying only makes me more beautiful.”</p>
<p>She patted the space on the divan beside her; I came and sat without a second thought. There was a light in her eyes which gave me an idea—if she didn’t want to hear a beautiful piece of poetry, no matter how much effort it had taken to prepare, perhaps she would be receptive to my honesty.</p>
<p>“Why have you had no portraits made?” I said. “The Warden has never seen you. He loves you nonetheless. If you die before meeting him, how will he remember how lovely you were?”</p>
<p>Another laugh rippled through her, this one silent. It was wonderful to watch her laugh. I wished the Warden could see it.</p>
<p>“Oh, I am not so hard-hearted as all that!” she said. “If that matters so much, I will give out pamphlets, detailing my beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every piece and particle labeled as I like. Such as, item: two lips, indifferent red; item: two blue eyes, with lids to them; item: one neck, one chin, and so forth.”</p>
<p>Dulcinea tapped each place as she named it. It would have been rude not to look, so I did. Up close she was mesmerizing in a way I am frankly at a loss to describe, and I was having trouble thinking of a response to this.</p>
<p>Then she caught my eye, and tilted her head. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Were you sent here to flirt with me?”</p>
<p>I wasn’t. And I shouldn’t have been. I didn’t <em>think</em> I was. My heart skipped a beat, in terror, probably.</p>
<p>“You think much of yourself,” I said instead, which might have been worse, so I pivoted. “The Master Warden loves you. You could at least be a little more gracious about it.”</p>
<p>Her head tilted to the side. “How does he love me?”</p>
<p>How did he <em>not</em>? Everything he did was for her.</p>
<p>“He calls you <em>darling</em> and <em>beloved</em>,” I said, trying not to let my voice catch. “He weeps at your letters, from joy. He mopes and moans about love, and sometimes he sighs in such a way that I <em>know</em> his heart is breaking.”</p>
<p>Dulcinea was quiet a moment. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, drawing the edge of her veil between her fingers.</p>
<p>“The Warden does know my mind,” she said, after a few seconds. “I cannot marry him. Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, of great title, of fresh and stainless youth. My sources say he is free-spirited, learned, and valiant; and in shape and nature a gracious person. But yet I cannot marry him. He might have took his answer long ago.”</p>
<p>It was beyond me to press for an explanation, I knew. But I could try to make her understand. “If I loved you like the Warden loves you,” I said, “suffering as much as he does, in such joyous agony…” I swallowed. “Your denial would make no sense to me. I would not understand it.” I would not, and I did not.</p>
<p>“Why,” she said, looking at me with mixed pity and interest, “what would you do instead?”</p>
<p>“I’d set up camp right at your gate, and call to you always within the house. Write songs of unrequited love and sing them loud all the time, even in the dead of night, loud enough that they’d echo through the hills and the very air would cry out, ‘Dulcinea!’” I smiled, despite myself. “You wouldn’t be able to sleep for the force of my love. You’d have to give in eventually.”</p>
<p>It had started out as something silly, a ridiculous strategy to entertain her. But somewhere in the middle I had hit upon some note of truth, and turned it more serious than I meant to. There was a long silence. Dulcinea was looking at me steadily; my smile faded. Her breaths were audible in the warm, still air, coming a little more quickly now. Eventually she said, “That’s a lot of effort.”</p>
<p>I inclined my head. Maybe so, but I have always gone to as much effort as I must to get what I want.</p>
<p>“Who <em>are</em> you?” she said, intently.</p>
<p>“No one important,” I said. She had never seen a picture of me, either; there was no reason for her to know. “I serve the Warden.”</p>
<p>She fluttered a hand at me. “Get yourself back to him. I cannot marry him, no matter how fervid his love. He shouldn’t send any more messengers to try and convince me. Unless,” she added, looking at me with big blue eyes, “maybe, <em>you</em> come back to me, to tell me how he takes it?”</p>
<p>Her hand had landed upon one of mine, startlingly cool in the heat of the conservatory. I hesitated; I truly had intended to make this one trip and no others. She laughed a little and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’ll let you be on your way, then. Please take this from me, as thanks.”</p>
<p>There was a confusing moment where I expected her to give me that feathery fan. But then she brushed her fingers against my cheek, leaned in, and placed a brief, chaste kiss upon my lips. I was so surprised I had barely closed my eyes before she drew back again.</p>
<p>“Keep that just for you,” she said, smiling, “Camilla, my darling.”</p>
<p>
  <em>How had she known?</em>
</p>
<p>I have no memory of leaving the conservatory, but I must have, and hopefully without making too much a fool of myself. I found myself somehow back on a shuttle, replaying the last moments with her over and over in my head. That didn't go at all how I thought it would, and I did not know how I was going to tell the Warden.</p>
<p>Maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I would do as Dulcinea had said, and keep it just for me.</p>
<p>Maybe I would go back.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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